Annette Osborne: When an ornament breaks, one memory is lost, another one created

Our family has accumulated a vast collection of Christmas tree ornaments over the years. We purchase an ornament on every trip we take as a souvenir, and our three kids each get a new one, personal to their interests, every Christmas.

We have a wide variety represented on our tree: countless Star Wars figures, soccer balls, Peanuts characters, a few Disney princesses, Hot Wheels cars, Veggie Tales, Guardians of Ga'Hoole, and several handmade ornaments crafted by our kids. There's a special memory attached to each one.

Many of our ornaments are fragile and our laminate floor can be most unforgiving. This presents a quandary. It is a family tree and should be decorated by the family. But what to do about young hands? They are not always the most careful and are typically attracted to the prettiest, most breakable ornaments they can find.

I have tried the panic mom approach in years past. "No one touch the special ornaments! Mommy and Daddy will hang those!" I would let out a gasp every time they picked up a delicate ornament. As you can guess, it did little to foster holiday cheer. I've since learned and practiced how to dial myself back. I want my kids to anticipate decorating the tree, and I want it to be fun. So I zip it, and we're all much happier.

My three children are now 12, 10, and 8, old enough to be trusted with careful ornament handling. I didn't even think to give my yearly spiel about hanging just one ornament at a time. I was embracing my new role of laid back Christmas Mom, so not a peep was uttered from me.

But sure enough, minutes into decorating, the sound of shattering glass met our ears. The four of us spun around to see my daughter, Payton, in a state of shock with R2-D2 lying in pieces all around her. She had been carrying three ornaments at a time on one hand and the poor robot met its demise.

Even more shocking was Davey immediately crumpling to the floor in tears. Oh. No.

The ornament must have been his, and we were all in for it now. Christmas was ruined. My mind was spinning with what damage control options we had.

But no, R2-D2 was Payton's ornament; Davey's was Darth Vader. We should be OK. So why was he so upset?

"I don't want to lose another Christmas memory!" Davey wailed.

Poor buddy. I loved his sentimentality and could totally relate. I was a bit on the dramatic side myself as a young girl. We sat quietly together until he recovered.

I don't think a Christmas memory was lost with the broken ornament. We instead just gained a new one. I can already hear it now next year, "Remember when Payton broke her ornament, and Davey was so sad ..." and we'll all smile ruefully recalling the incident.

We have another ornament on our tree with an altered Christmas memory: an ice cream cone I made in first grade. It was a silky white ball dipped into sprinkles and glued to a real cone. I loved that ornament, and it came with me when I married my husband, Travis, a package deal.

Two years ago, my friend's 3-year-old daughter spotted that ice cream cone hanging from our tree. She loved it as much as I did and had taken several bites of it before I found her. And who could blame her? An ice cream cone hanging within arm's reach must be eaten! I might add here, the cone was 31 years old at the time of consumption.

I couldn't throw the ornament away after so many years, so now it hangs on the back of our tree, half-eaten. Every time we pull it out the kids laugh and say, "Remember when Sofia ate your ornament Mom?!" A new Christmas memory to join the old.

A few ornaments may be lost each year due to eager decorating or hungry house guests, but they are worthy sacrifices for all the memories we have made decorating together as a family. R.I.P., R2-D2.